


Princes of the Universe

by robinfan2



Category: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Pre-52, Triggers, non-canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-07 00:57:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinfan2/pseuds/robinfan2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred calls them the Princes of Gotham - protective holders of the legacy of Robin. </p>
<p>The ties that bind them are complex, incomprehensible to others, and incredibly strong that not even they could break them.</p>
<p>One night the most powerful being on earth attacked one of their own. All Robins - past and present - close ranks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love of My Life

**Author's Note:**

> This story may contain triggers and uncomfortable themes. My apologies.

HE’s running the list in his head.

_Towels. Lots. Check._

_Spare toothbrush. Check._

_Box of tissues. Top of side table. Check._

_Lube. Two tubes. Top drawer. Check._

_Condoms. In case... in case they need them. Place near the results of their blood tests. Check and check._

He steps out of his bedroom to the lounge and checks the theatre tickets atop the coffee table. Still there. He whips out his smart phone to read the text sent by Gotham’s top-notch restaurant confirming his dinner reservation for tomorrow. Sometimes being a Wayne has its perks.

He then turns a critical eye around his apartment. He’s been cleaning extra these past three days. Ever since Tim’s eighteenth birthday. Since Tim sought and found him atop the the Manor roof where Dick chose to spend the rest of the night after all that cake. Where Tim in his shy way, quietly asked him if he could be his first.

It’s Jason’s fault really. Entirely Jason Todd’s fault.

****

“Time out!”

His adoptive brother stepped out of the mat, grabbed a towel and began wiping down.

Their spar had gone longer than expected. But it was a good spar and if Jason didn’t call for it first, Dick would have had.

“Man, that was fucking great!” The redhead dropped onto the mat and chugged the bottle of water in one go.

Dick grinned and sat crossed legged beside him. He always enjoyed sparring with his brothers. Now that he’s in a good place in his relationship with their surrogate father, Bruce Wayne, Dick was now able to be the person he truly was.

Jason motioned to the figure at the other side of mat. Tim. Tim in a white tee and sweats. Already in the zone. Immersed in the _ying_ and _yang_ of _Tai’Chi_.

“Yo, Babybird!”

It took a moment for Tim to acknowledge Jason’s call, and even then, only got a “Hmm."

“You’ve been at it for an hour and a half. C’mere!”

Dick laughed. “You can’t rush him like that, Jay. He has to finish the routine.”

“Fuck that!” 

The six-footer grabbed a bottle of water and threw it towards Tim’s head. Only Tim caught it with an outstretched had without breaking his routine. They saw Tim change the speed of his movements incrementally, slightly quicker than the last until he completed the series. He then took a deep breath before opening his eyes and glaring at Jason.

“Dammit, Jay! I was in the middle of my routine.”

Jason just grinned and patted the space beside him. Tim walked over and knelt. Dick felt the brother going by the vigilante name, Red Hood, was up to something not entirely appropriate.

“So, Tim,” the deep voice boomed. “Are you finally going to do it?”

“Do what?”

Of the three, only the youngest had no idea what Jason was talking about. Of their community, only the Batman and Tim did not know what Jason was about to talk about.

“Pop the cherry. Crash the gate. Be deflowered. Lose the virginity. Clear enough for you?”

Tim turned horrified violet-tinged eyes on the redhead. Jason merely grinned wider.

"Everybody's waiting, Replacement. I've got a list right here of them beautiful people willing and able to put out for you."

"Jay -"

"Lemme handle this, Dickie -"

"I'm out of here!"

Jason slammed Tim onto the mat and straddled the teen, pinning Tim's arms against his sides. 

"Ah, ah! I'm not through with you," Jason scolded.

"Jay," Tim said, patiently. "Let me go."

"If you answer my question. And no lying."

Tim turned to Dick, who shrugged. "I'm wondering myself, so... sorry, Tim."

Tim groaned, knowing help was out of reach. "I don't know. It's not really in my list of priorities right now."

"Why not?" Jason rolled off to lie on his back. "Don't you feel the itch? Man, I was practically a veteran by the time Slut-wing right here got blown at sixteen."

Dick was sorely tempted to axe-kick Jason's stomach.

Tim managed a slight smile. He folded his arms behind his head and kept his eyes on the ceiling. 

"I don't think my libido's any less active than yours or Dick's," he said, nonchalantly. "In the occasions when... opportunity presented itself... Well, I wasn't ready then."

"Ready? What do you mean by ready?"

Tim shrugged. "I dunno. I... It didn't feel right then. The people who came on to me then... Well, I cared for them. But I was too young...I wasn't ready to take that step. And sex didn't seem important."

"You're a wuss!"

"Jay, stop teasing him -"

"Wuss, wuss, a fucking wuss, Tim!" Jason snorted. "That's what you are - a yellow-bellied wuss!"

Tim was totally amused. "What's with the sudden interest in my sex life, Jay? If you go on like this, people might think -"

"I'd want to fuck you? Hell, yeah!"

Jason was enjoying the incredulous looks they cast on him. So much so he lifted himself on his elbows, bent his knees and lewdly thrusted his hips in the air a few times.

"So how about it, Babybird? Wanna do the dirty with me?"

"You are gross," Tim deadpanned.

Jason sighed and glanced up at Dick. "Help me here?"

Dick shook his head, "You started this."

Another dramatic sigh before he turned back to Tim, who had closed his eyes, perhaps imagining he was somewhere else where Jason's being chased by wild, feral creatures the size of a tanker.

"Tim," Jason's voice was softer, more serious. "Tim, I'm not saying you need to fuck as soon as you hit eighteen. If you're waiting for the right moment, the special person - he or she, the right... anything, I don't know, by all means, wait. You gotta be... need to be sensitive about these things. Yeah?"

"Does love come into this?"

"You're lucky if it does. In my case, my first was mostly about fun." He looked over to his younger brother. "I guess you're the sort who'd do it primarily for love. Gotta warn you your firstie might not be the one you'd eventually be riding off with to the fucking sunset. You might have to ask Slut-wing here; he's the resident expert on fuzzy, romantic sex."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Tim complained.

"What Jason is really saying, Tim," Dick said, smiling down at Tim's frown. "There will be a time it feels right for you and when it does come, don't lose it."

Tim suddenly became fixated on a bat brave enough to hang on the T-Rex's chin. "What if... What if the person I... well, I like doesn't want to? Doesn't want me?"

Jason laughed. Dick had to glare at him as Tim's already spooked enough. It's really laughable anybody would refuse Tim. As Jason remarked earlier, there's a long line of people hoping to be their adoptive brother's first sexual partner.

"Oh, Tim," he said, trying to sound assuring and brotherly. "If someone refuses you, then it's not meant to be. Remember Bruce's favourite Stephen Stills' song lyric? _If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with._ "

"And," Jason lifted a finger and nodded at Tim sagely. "It also helps if you ask nicely."

***

Dick’s lips curve into a smile. He can’t remember being so nervous, so elated, so excited for a long time now. Things as Nightwing had been hectic, stressful and full of drama lately. Tim’s request was a shocker, but in a good way. Very good way. To be someone’s first... to be the one to touch someone as special as Tim in an intimate way...

He feels a lump form in his throat. He loves Tim. Loved him all this time. Kept that love hidden in the guise of brotherly affection. Hid his feelings so well he fooled even himself until he finally gave up pretending he wasn't waiting for this boy to grow up. To reach that maturity when Tim can make the important personal decisions. When age is no longer an issue.

So when Tim asked, hesitant and prepared to take rejection, Dick said _yes_. With the Big Dipper and its small counterpart as their witnesses, Dick landed a chaste kiss on Tim's surprised lips and said _yes_. _Yes_ and _yes_ with the hope in his heart that if he plays this right, then maybe, just maybe, it can be more than just Tim's first time.

He glances at his watch and is pleased he completed his housework with an hour to spare before he goes on patrol. It's Friday and Tim will be on the red eye from Metropolis where he met with a few rock bands interested in signing up with Wayne Enterprises. He'll pick up Tim tomorrow afternoon for theatre and dinner and, well, for whatever else they'd decide on.

A bottle of fine scotch sitting on the sofa catches his eye. Red Hood shoved it in his hands just before he completed his patrol last night.

"I've got my money on you, Goldie," grinned the vigilante, both thumbs up. "Here's somethin' to help him relax. Make it good for the kid, 'kay?"

Dick has no idea how Jason found out. But it is good scotch and Dick will be needing it as much as Tim.

His secure phone rings. Babs.

"Dick, the Batplane's in Wayne Tower. You need to get there fast and fly the aircraft to the coordinates I'm sending you. Batman's in the Watchtower. He and a few of the Leaguers will be teleporting there. Timing is crucial. Code Red."

Code Red. A bat in trouble. Trouble bad enough for the Justice League to assist.

"Who is it, Babs? Who am I extracting?"

He hears hesitation in her voice.

"Red Robin," she finally answers. "Tim."

Dick looks at the coordinates. Pales.

_No. Oh, God, no._


	2. Hammer to Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story may contain triggers.

Tim did not cry. Through his ordeal, he did not cry. Even as his assailant slammed him face down on the cold floor, breaking two or three of his ribs. Even as his bo was wrenched from him and his left arm pinned across his back. Even as his uniform was torn from his person and his weapons destroyed. Even as his attacker stabbed into him, reckless and violent. Again and again.

Tim did not cry. Not once. Not even when the bastard blew his load down the teen's throat.

It was only when his assailant was wrenched from his battered body, when Nightwing was holding him gently, wiping sweat, blood and semen from his face that Tim finally wept. Silently. So much in pain he couldn't manage a whimper.

He kissed Tim's forehead and smiled. His anger buried deep, deep down so he could minister to his brother. He ignored the din of destruction behind him, intent on covering his charge in the tattered Red Robin cape and carrying him into the safety of the Batplane.

He saw Superboy and Wonder Girl fly past to join the fray. Kid Flash may had already gone ahead, running too fast for the naked eye to see. He resisted the temptation to follow them. He had a more important matter on hand.

"I'm here, Little Brother," he assured Tim as he strapped him in the cot behind the cockpit. "I'm here. You're safe."

Tim closed his eyes and turned his head away. The tears did not stop.

***

"Where the fuck is the kryptonite? Where does he keep it?"

Jason's yelling, his voice echoes in the Batcave, agitating the bats. 

"Bruce has it, Jay," he answers, quietly.

Jason looks caged as he paces, kicks furniture and hits the cave walls. Then suddenly he stops and screams in frustration. Long and loud. Releases the heaviness trapped deep in his chest until there is nothing more in there but helplessness.

Dick then comes near and holds him as he weeps.

"I'm gonna kill him, Dick!" Jason sobs. "I'm gonna kill him. He can't do this to us. I don't care if he's the fucking Superman... Oh, God! Tim... Our Tim..."

"Tim is alive, Jay," he says, soothingly. "We got there in time. He's alive. And his injuries... they aren't as bad as we first thought."

His brother pushes away, running his fingers through his red hair, his other hand wiping his face. "He raped him, Dick! Superman raped Tim! He didn't even prepare him -"

"Jason -" Dick knows. He's seen the tapes. He's seen the bruises, the welts, the wounds. He's personally seen the alien pull out from Tim's cracked lips.

"Tim had to go through that hell with three broken ribs, a dislocated arm and a concussion. Fuck, Dick, how can you be so calm -"

"Jason, it's taking all my control not to mount an attack on the Fortress or Watchtower or wherever the Justice League is keeping him." He unclenches his hands and takes a deep breath. "The only thing stopping me is Tim. I need to know what Tim thinks about this. What he wants us to do."

"You don't have the stones to take on the Kryptonian," the redhead snorts. "C'mon, Dick. You're friends with the alien. You used to wear Superman pyjamas to sleep!"

"Hero-worship or not, nobody does this to a Robin, former or current. Clark has to answer for his actions."

"You gonna tell that to Bruce?"

"Bash it in his skull if I have to," Dick answers, coldly. "Everybody knows what happens when you mess up a Bat."

Jason's grin is sharp and his teal eyes gleam darkly. "I've got all the ordnance to put that fucker down. I want in."

"At my side, Jay," he promises, grimly, his hand gripping his brother's shoulder. "I'll draw up the plans."

"No."

They both turn towards the voice. 

Batman.


	3. Father to Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick sees how much of a father Bruce has become.

He said only one word upon his arrival before he took the stone stairs to the Manor. Still in his uniform violating Alfred Pennyworth's policy of keeping their vigilante persona in the Batcave.

Dick and Jason followed him, hoping to press their case for retribution. Yet when they entered Tim's room, thoughts of vengeance faded into the background. It was insensitive to speak of violence at a time when their brother, their comrade needed their comfort and support. And there's irony in that as Damian, their assassin-trained brother who clashed with Tim every minute since they first met, was the one who understood this the most.

He sat there on the floor beside the Great Dane. Still in his Robin garb, leaning back against Tim's bed, his sheathed katana cradled on his chest. His eyes were closed, but they were in no doubt he'd attack as soon as he sensed danger. Damian knew where his strengths lay and would never hesitate to use them to protect one of their own. The castle was safe.

Bruce uncovered his face before kneeling before his twelve-year-old biological son. He didn't have to say anything. Damian woke on his own accord.

"What of the alien, father?" he demanded.

"Clark..." Bruce bit his lip. "The Kryptonian's in the custody of the Justice League. He has regained control of his mind. He is no longer a danger to Tim... to us."

"Good." Damian stood up and turned to his sleeping brother. "I shall turn in then, Drake, as danger has passed. Even so I am leaving Titus for your convenience."

He then touched his father's arm, his demeanour that of a boy his age. "Father, I understand we were able to appropriate recordings from the alien's fortress. I... I have no wish to see them, I would appreciate it if they not be shown in my presence."

"It disturbs you."

Damian removed his domino mask them, revealing the worry in his blue eyes. "It is enough I know what had transpired. The incident... it is not what I would wish upon even my worst enemy. Drake... Timothy does not deserve such violence. I -" He choked then and hugged his father. "I am... afraid, Father."

Bruce hugged his son back, squeezing him before letting him go. Dick couldn't resist ruffling Damian's hair as he walked past them. It said a lot about the boy's mood when he didn't rise to the bait. He merely shuffled through the door held open by Alfred, the Wayne family's butler who had the uncanny ability to be where he's most needed.

"Master Richard, Master Jason," he whispered. The butler's mouth was set in a disapproving line. But his aged eyes held sorrow and pain. "It's late. Master Timothy needs his rest. So do you. " 

To his surprise, Jason obeyed without saying a word, hugging Alfred before leaving.

"Master Richard," the butler urged him, gently.

"Alfred -"

"There's nothing else we can do now, young man. Master Timothy is on induced coma to allow him to rest and to heal." He smiled slightly. "Mistress Cassandra will board a direct flight from Hong Kong tomorrow. She should arrive Gotham International a day later."

"Thank you, Alfred."

He stole a look at the bed. Bruce was holding his son's hand, staring at that young, bruised face. Dick sighed, embraced the old man and slipped out. 

***

Dick has given up on sleep and decides to check in on his adoptive brother. 

Bruce just sits there, holding his injured son's hand. He looks worn and in the light of the morning sun, Dick is suddenly aware of the bruises on his father's face and of his skinned knuckles. He hasn't slept since... since maybe before he received the news of Red Robin's abduction. He sits there waiting, and Dick can only guess what's going on in his mind, what he must be feeling. There's guilt of being the one who sent his son into danger. And the knowledge his best friend had raped his son.

"Hey, boy," he greets the dog as it walks past him through the door. Titus needs his morning ritual or there'd be hell to pay to Alfred.

He waits for the door to click softly behind him before he approaches his father, who has not changed from his battered uniform. Bits of Kevlar peek through the tears and his utility belt is almost empty. That must have been one helluva smackdown.

"Bruce." He lays a hand on his mentor's shoulder.

"I failed him, Dick," the man who is Batman says, hoarsely. "When Clark said he got dosed with Isley's pollen, I sent Tim to administer the antidote he keeps in his uniform. It was supposed to be routine. I didn't imagine... can't believe..."

Dick feels his anger rise anew but tamps it down. Their father is about to fall to pieces. They can't have that. They can't afford it. Gotham needs the Batman. Tim needs his father. They all do.

"Tim went because he knew he could do it. Besides he was already in Metropolis. It made sense to send him." He takes a deep breath. "The antidote works on both humans and metas. What went wrong?"

"Diana came an hour ago to deliver a sample of Clark's blood. They were also able to scrape off enough pollen for us to analyse. Alfred has already started the analyser. We should get the results in two hours."

"And Clark?" Dick can't help the snarl in his voice at the mention of the name.

"He placed himself under house arrest waiting... waiting for our decision."

"Who's looking after Metropolis?"

"Superboy, Supergirl. Alan Scott has also volunteered."

Bruce stands and walks over the picture window on which Tim loves to perch. Outside the leaves are beginning to change their hue. Autumn is approaching.

"I don't know what to do, Dick." Bruce's voice is barely audible, yet his distress peals loud. "I don't know what to do."

_Kill him. Torture him. Slice his balls off._

But Dick can't bring himself to say these things out loud. Superman is not only the protector of Metropolis. He is a trusted member of the Justice League. Batman's best friend. One who has lent his powers many times over to help or save a Bat or a Robin in trouble. 

"Master Bruce, Master Richard."

Alfred's timing is impeccable as always.

"Miss Diana has teleported in the Batcave," Alfred announces, stiffly. "She has offered use of the Amazons' purple ray to assist in Master Timothy's healing."

"I don't want it!" Bruce hisses. "I don't want her or any meta-human touching my son!"

"Bruce!" Alfred chides, angrily. "This is about Timothy's well-being. We are being offered a rare opportunity - use of a high-tech medical contraption that hardly leaves Paradise Island. An equipment that could spare Master Tim the more painful effects of his injuries."

The old man sighs and wearily approaches Bruce. His eyes are pained as they sweep over the sleeping boy. "I feel anger. The measure of it I have not experienced until now. I cannot imagine enough the horror the boy had suffered.

"Yet," with this he lays a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "I have hope we can all survive this. Timothy is alive. There is so much in that we should be thankful for. He is alive. I beseech you then - all of us who care about this young man - to desist from words and thoughts of retribution. Let us focus on the most important task on hand - Timothy's complete recovery, in both body and mind."

He gives Bruce's shoulder a squeeze and prepares to leave the room. 

"I shall bring Miss Diana up to the parlour and prepare breakfast. I expect you showered and changed into decent clothes in fifteen minutes. It's rude to keep the lady waiting."

Dick waits for the door to click shut before nudging his father's foot with his own.

"Go, Bruce. I'll keep an eye on Tim. "

"I -" His father looks divided.

He pulls Bruce up and pushes him to the door.

"You don't want to go against Alfred on this, do you?"

"Heavens forbid," Bruce deadpans. And with slumped shoulders, steps out.


	4. In the Lap of the Gods

Dick is adjusting the drip when Tim's eyes flutter open. He quickly sits beside the youth to be able to look at him closely.

"Hey, Timbo," he whispers, a hand brushing stray hair from those violet-tinged eyes. 

Tim seems disoriented but he takes in the sight of his adoptive brother smiling down at him.

"How long..." Tim's voice is hoarse. "How long was I out?"

"Three days," he answers, reaching for the jug of water and glass by the side table. "Here. Take a sip, little brother."

Dick is careful to dip the glass in a comfortable angle. Tim's face is still pale and gaunt. He winces at slight movement and his eyelids struggle to remain open. A few drops in, Tim slides back into sleep.

Dick feels a presence behind him. Bruce.

"Alfred will be happy to hear Tim's out of the coma."

His father remains silent but reaches for his injured son's hand. As Dick turns to go he sees the desk chair Bruce has been sitting on since Tim was carried to his room. It looks like something from the Spanish Inquisition.

"Bruce."

The man who is Batman is on the bed, touching the younger man's face.

"Bruce," he calls softly. "Five minutes, okay? Then, it's off to bed with you."

A growl.

"You'll get some shut-eye or I'll sic Alfred on you," Dick threatens as he opens the door. "Five minutes."

Just as he closes the door behind him, he hears, "Yes, Mom." 

Dick chuckles.

***

The whole Manor begins to bustle then. All of a sudden, everyone has an appetite and Alfred gladly whips up their favourite dishes. When the residents aren't out on patrol or doing household chores, they can be found at the kitchen table chatting over sandwiches, pancakes, roast beef or ice cream. 

In spite of the uplift, Dick still feels restless. He has not seen Tim since he woke up from his coma. The young man has requested for privacy and aside from Alfred and Bruce allows only Cassandra Cain, their adoptive sister and Batman's operative Black Bat, to enter his room.

One night after patrol, Nightwing sees them sitting on the roof above Tim's window, looking out to the lights of Gotham, fingers entwined. Dick realises then their relationship runs far deeper than he first thought. He shouldn't be surprised. Tim and Cass had been stationed in Bludhaven some three years ago. Tim had sought out Cass when she went rogue to bring her back to the fold. Tim believed in her when no one would. Since then, Red Robin and the Black Bat have worked seamlessly together in numerous occasions. Their loyalty with each other is solid and unbreakable.

Dick is glad. And jealous.

When Cass eventually leaves for Hong Kong, Tim keeps mostly to himself in his room. Resting. Catching up with his reading. Looking out of the picture window. Sometimes they see him walk in the gardens, watching Titus gallop after squirrels. At few nights as they slip back into the Manor through the old Grandfather's Clock, they would hear hear piano music coming from the parlour. Only Tim knows how to play the Bosendorfer.

He's like a ghost. They know he's around but they don't see him. Not even Damian could catch him. They can only hope Tim would finally break out of his shell.

"Master Richard."

He turns from his laptop. Alfred's frowning.

"Haven't you witnessed enough of the tragedy to have to read about it?" 

Dick gives Tim's report one last look before closing the file. It is written in an impassive way, almost like a police statement. It is a complete account of everything that happened since Tim left his hotel room as Red Robin. 

Tim has even written an exposition on Poison Ivy's sex pollen. Apparently the toxin's effect on the alien did not manifest right away, maybe because of the pollen's new formulation or the Kryptonian's physiology. It was unfortunate the antidote took much longer to work. 

Reading Tim's account of his abduction is painful even as the words he used are devoid of emotions and his thought processes. Dick remembers biting his lip as he read how Superman flew him to the Fortress of Solitude under five minutes and Tim's failed attempts at keeping distance between him and the Kryptonian. 

Dick's eyes had blurred reading how Tim pleaded for the Man of Steel to hold back because he's human, more fragile compared to the alien. His fists had clenched when he reached Tim's stoic account of how he got the concussion, whwn he dislocated his shoulder and the number of times the alien had taken him, had bitten him, and the one time the Kryptonian had forced himself on the boy's mouth.

_I don't need to read this_ , he had berated himself. He has seen the tapes, the recordings. He was there to witness part of it. Yet reading Tim's report feels like he's commiserating with him. Like he's sharing Tim's pain. It's the least he can do.

"I have to, Alfred," he replies, tiredly. "He feels so alone."

The old man gives him an assuring smile and lays a hand on his shoulder. "You are a good man, Master Richard, and will remain so to the end of your days. Master Timothy is blessed as we all are."

"Aargh!"

The sounds Damian and Jason are making at the mats as they spar are a welcome distraction. Dick grins at the butler and both of them approach to watch. 

"You are infuriating, Todd!" Damian grits out. He's pinned on the mat, an arm twisted behind him.

"More sparring, less whinging, brat!" Jason chuckles.

"How dare you! I do not -"

"... best therapist in the Northern Hemisphere. Have you given thought to your alias?"

Batman and Tim, in a plain white tee and blue denims, appear from the top of the stone stairs leading up to the Manor. They can hear their ongoing conversation, their voices soft, almost quiet. Yet the words spoken ring clear. The spar is forgotten. 

Tim nods. "Todd Richards is a college student who gets assaulted by a close family friend, who had the misfortune of stumbling into Robinson Park. Circumstances of Todd's misfortune is not dissimilar from the true events."

"And the Gauntlet?"

"I plan to take it in two months."

"That soon?" Bruce sounds sceptical.

"The purple ray helped in the recovery, Bruce. As for training, eight weeks should be enough." He hesitates then, chewing on his lower lip absentmindedly. "I called Wonder Woman... to say thank you and..."

Their father stiffens. Both are now standing by the bottom steps, facing each other.

Tim takes a deep breath and places a hand on his father's shoulder. "I asked her if she can arrange a meeting between Clark and me."

"No!"

They can't help but flinch. Bruce hardly speaks like that to Tim. Tim who far more than any of them except maybe Damian deeply regards Bruce as his father. Tim remains calm and firm, determined not to lock horns but to reason.

"Bruce, you have to stop blaming Clark. He was dosed on Ivy's new and improved pollen. He couldn't help himself. We know that. And it's not his fault the anti-toxin did not work as quickly as it should."

Seeing his father's stricken look, Tim gives his shoulder a squeeze. "You don't get to blame yourself, either. Sending me to Clark was a logical, tactical move. I had the antidote. If I didn't give it to him, he would have gone on a rampage longer. If I weren't there, he would have victimised another. A civilian. People we have been trained to protect."

Tim's eyes never leave Bruce's and they see their father's hand lift and settle on their brother's shoulder. Dick sees wonderment in Damian's face. He finally witnesses the special relationship his biological father has with his adoptive brother.

"Father cares for Drake," Damian whispers to himself in that heartbreaking tone. 

"As much as he cares for you, Demon Brat," Jason quips as he ruffles the current Robin's hair. "It's okay to freak out. We all do when Bruce gets all touchy-feely."

"I should have been there instead."

Tim shakes his head. "It would have been too late, Bruce. The collateral damage would have been... a lot worse. The training you, Dick and many others gave me helped mitigate the... violence and ensured my survival." He takes a deep breath. "If there is anyone to blame it should have been me."

They all growl, except Alfred who remains quiet and composed. Both father and son continue to ignore them.

"I shouldn't have gone in there unprepared. You had taught us, reminded us, not to take metas for granted. To always be cautious in dealing with them. Even if the meta is Superboy, who's my best friend, or Superman who's yours. For the simple reason we're human, reliant on the tools we have on hand to keep ourselves safe if ever we have to go against them."

They see Batman pull their brother closer as Tim's voice cracks. They see their father cradle his son against his chest. They see he who has upheld the Robin legacy grip his father tightly and desperately.

"I should have been ready," he said, voice steady. "I shouldn't have assumed the antidote would work. I'm sorry, Bruce. I'm so, so sorry."

"Hush, boy," Bruce's voice is hoarse. "Hush."

Dick quietly motions for Damian and Jason to follow him. A lift of the eyebrow stops the protest forming in the youngest's lips. Dick leads them up to the Manor through another path.

"What say you, Grayson?" Damian demands when they reached the Manor's massive kitchen table.

Dick opens a cabinet for bowls and spoons while Jason rummages through the freezer.

"The worst is over."

"You don't look happy," Jason comments, placing a tub of rocky road ice cream on the table as he sits on a stool.

Dick shrugs as he slides the bowls across to them. "It's a Solomonic decision on Tim's part. It's good for all concerned." He sits and starts spooning some ice cream into his bowl. "I just hate not being able to slug Clark."

Damian nods. "Retribution is justifiable in this case."

"So, do we retribute?" Jason's licking his spoon in the most exaggerated way.

Dick shakes his head. "We follow Tim's lead. He's right, after all. And at the end of the day, he gets to say how we play this."

"Dang! I was hoping for some old-fashioned smack down."

"You would," Damian snorts.

Alfred strides in followed by Bruce and Tim, who sits on a stool, grabs Jason's bowl and spoon and begins eating ice cream. 

"You are bleeping welcome. Indeed you are!" Jason blurts out, glaring at the younger man with an incredulous expression on his face. Tim merely grins back at him.

Alfred opens a cupboard for more bowls and cutlery and lays them on the table. Bruce gingerly scoops some ice cream into his bowl.

"Jason."

"Yo!" 

Jason is shovelling more ice cream in their bowl, using a new spoon.

"You'll handle Tim's training."

Jason's smirk is pure evil.

"Nightwing... Dick, I'd like you to be with Tim when he talks to..." Bruce takes a moment to mention his friend's name without derision. "Clark."

"Glad to," Dick answers, throwing a swift glance towards Tim. 

Bruce sighs deeply before dipping his own spoon in his bowl. "The rest of you are on standby in the Batcave. I don't foresee any backlash to the... um... meeting, but I'd be comfortable knowing everyone's accounted for."

"So, Master Bruce."

The butler hovers by Bruce's side. 

"Shall I cancel the commission for one knuckleduster with kryptonite in-lay, hmm?"

Bruce's flush is priceless.


	5. Play the Game

The view is awesome. Anywhere you look at the sight of stars and the blue orb that is earth never fails to take one's breath away even how often or how long one looks out through the glass windows.

Except tonight when all of Nightwing's focus is on his young brother and his safety.

He is standing by the closed door, quietly listening in on the conversation. Clark is wearing his livery, towering over Red Robin not only height but in presence. Yet his demeanour is meek, almost submissive. Hardly able to meet the younger man's eyes.

"... Clark, please." Tim's cowl is pulled back and he is looking at Superman with that unwavering intensity nobody - not even the Batman - can turn away from. 

"Tim, I..." Superman wrenches his eyes desperately to look out of the window. But Tim's violet-tinged eyes force him back. "I have no right to be here," he whispers. "I should be in prison. Punished."

Tim is still for a moment as he digests the other man's words. "You were as much a victim as I was, Superman," he says, gently. 

"I was supposed to be strong enough to resist the pollen!"

"And you weren't. No one is. Hence, the antidote."

"It didn't work!"

"It _did_ work," Tim insists, patiently. "Just not quick enough. Besides you resisted the effects of the pollen as much as you could. I know. I wouldn't be here if you didn't."

Clark stares at the younger man with frustration before pacing away, hands clenching. Nightwing fingers the lead-lined pouch hidden in his palm. The _Roy Harper special_ , Jason had whispered in his ear when he slipped it in Dick's hand before he and Tim teleported to the Watchtower.

"Don't you understand? Don't you understand what really happened? Why I attacked you?" Superman demands, struggling to keep from yelling. "I could have gone to Lois. My wife. But I didn't. I waited for you. I knew you were coming. And then I... I..." He looms over the teen and asks, hoarsely, "Do you _understand_?"

Tim is blushing but he keeps his ground. "We don't accost every single person who... well, who lusts for us because that's just downright silly, isn't it? There's a reason someone out there is making money selling knock-offs of our uniforms."

"Tim, I'm married and I am attracted - "

"I bet you're attracted to other people as well, Clark. But I don't see you forcing yourself onto them. I don't know how long you've been thinking of me that way but you never gave me any reason to fear you or distrust you."

They are silent, their eyes locked onto each other. Tim then takes a step forward and lays a hand on the alien's arm.

"What happened, it... it goes with the territory, you know? We know what we're getting into when we put on the uniform. We understand and accept the risks. We get hurt. Attacked. How is this any different?"

"Tim." Superman's eyes are pleading. 

"Clark, you are a good friend to all of us. At one time or another, we asked and you never denied us your assistance. We can't throw that away. I will not be the one to destroy the alliance between the Bats and the Supes."

The Kryptonian sighs. In the face of Tim's arguments and magnanimity, the stronger, bigger man is defeated.

"What do we do then?"

Tim sighs, weariness marking his face making him look older.

"We don't talk of this anymore. I want any recording of... I want them all destroyed." 

"You forgive me then?"

"There's nothing to forgive - "

"Please, Tim." 

Superman's unearthly blue eyes hold unshed tears. Tim seems taken aback.

"Of course, Clark," he whispers, smiling gently. I do forgive you."

Nightwing slips the pouch into a compartment. The need for the kryptonite-lined knuckleduster has passed. 

Tim, after all, has just become the most powerful teenaged crimefighter on earth.

***

They watch Superman speak to Batman and the Justice Leaguers who know what had happened. They aren't listening though. Red Robin's deep in thought while Nightwing worries about him.

"You sure?"

"Hmm?" Tim wakes from his reverie, blinking at him.

"What you just did. Your decision. Forgive and forget."

Tim closes his eyes briefly and takes a deep breath. "The Justice League is bigger than me, Dick. And no way in hell will I cause the breakup of Bruce's friendship with Clark."

"You do realise Bruce might no longer warm up to Clark."

Tim stares at him briefly before turning his eyes back to the Justice Leaguers.

"There was a time Superman had lost control and almost killed Batman. Their relationship survived."

"But Tim, Superman attacked you this time. _You._ It's killing Bruce." He unclenches his fist. "It's killing me."

Tim does not answer.


	6. The Gauntlet - Going against Robin and the Red Hood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim enters the first phase of the Gauntlet.

He checks the sky. It's a clear, cloudless night with a large moon casting its silvery light over Gotham's rooftops. A nice breeze is blowing from the sea. It would be fun to hit the jumplines. It's the perfect night to fly.

He sighs. He has been hoping for rain. Earthquake. A gang war. Anything to delay this. This rite of passage. It's too soon, so soon. 

Tim needs more time to prepare for the Gauntlet, he thinks.

Robin has gone before them. He will be first to hold the line against Tim.

"How are you feeling?" he hears Red Hood ask.

"Good," Tim answers. He's completing the last phases of his warm-ups. "I feel good."

"Okay." Jason squares his shoulders. "You go out there and beat the snot out of the Demon Brat."

Tim chuckles, softly.

"No, I mean it, Squirt! If I have to spend another day training you I'd sooner break your arm!"

The younger man continues to smile. "I love you, too."

"Fuck you!"

Laughing Red Robin fires his grappling gun and jumps off the edge. 

Nightwing walks towards his brother. Not even the domino mask can hide the concern in Jason's face.

"He's going to be okay, yeah?"

Dick shrugs. "First time one of us has to go through four opponents to pass the Gauntlet."

"If he waits four more months he wouldn't have to go through this. He's already made. But no, Tim has to do it the hard way."

Dick feels a blend of pride and sorrow at Tim's decision to take this path. He can't imagine what Tim would feel if he fails. Although he will definitely ask to go through it again and again until he passes it. That's just how he's wired.

"Tim wants to go to the field sooner," he says, watching Tim fly farther and farther from them. "I guess Tim feels he has something to prove, especially to Bruce." He pulls out his grappling gun. "C'mon. Don't want to miss the Battle Royale."

***

At first they think they have missed a turn, but a figure on a rooftop wriggles. Damian. Wrapped in his cape and tied neatly like a tamale. Jason whoops and continues on, leaving Nightwing to free his brother.

"I-I," splutters Robin.

"Breathe," he advises, biting his cheek to keep from laughing at Damian's fury.

"This is not acceptable!" Robin finally manages to say. "My boots had hardly touched the roof when this... this varlet came from nowhere and attacked me. He attacked me when I was unprepared!"

"Of course, he did. That's how this Gauntlet's being played. Red Robin has to either take down his opponent in any way possible or hold his own for two minutes."

"But he had yet to hail me!"

Dick helps up the teenager to his feet. "The Gauntlet began as soon as he followed you. Or weren't you listening during the briefing?"

The youngster snorts, "Tt! I merely expected we would exchange pleasantries before we duelled. Apparently my high regard of Red Robin was misplaced."

Nightwing gives him a noogie.

"Little Red's doing what he should be doing. So should we. C'mon! I don't want to miss the next round."

***

"What is that?"

Robin is half awed, half scandalised. Nightwing can't blame him. He can hardly believe what he's seeing either.

It's hand-to-hand combat for the two Reds and Dick has expected Tim to be down by the time he and Robin arrive. Instead, the two are still at it, their fight intense and their movements rapid. And the larger man is struggling to hold his position.

"Why is Red Robin moving like a... drunkard?"

It hits him then. One of their movie nights when Dick indulged Tim with a DVD of _Drunken Master_ , a classic Jackie Chan feature. Tim was enamoured with the movie. He was quiet the whole time, eyes gleaming at the strange fighting style of staggering, swaying, falling and grabbing. Dick thought Tim was merely entertained by it, especially that it involved a lot of acrobatics.

He didn't think he'd see Tim use the Drunken Fist technique on Jason. Hell, he didn't even realise until now Tim could do it. It's a demanding discipline, testing limits of one's balance and coordination. Dick doesn't like it and neither does the Batman, although they can incorporate it In their fighting styles.

The Red Hood's getting frustrated. His punches and kicks hardly connect as Tim easily rolls or, in this case, falls, then bounces back to strike with his knuckles or hit with his shin. There's hardly any rhythm to Tim's movements, confusing him. Yet all of Red Robin's strikes are deliberate.

Jason may have trained Tim for the Gauntlet but he never have expected this. 

Tim's fingers are gripping Red Hood's throat when a timer somewhere goes off. The two minutes are up. Dick fires his grappling gun and as he leaves, sees Jason hug Tim tightly. 

He turns to the task at hand. Grim and resolute.

Tim will not go past him. No. Not if he can help it.


	7. The Gauntlet - Fighting Nightwing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being the Batman is not always a joy.

He sees Tim flutter gracefully onto the rooftop. Just like his moniker, Red Robin. Suddenly he feels protective. It takes all of his willpower to stop himself from stepping out of the shadows to declare the Gauntlet over. To send Tim home. To order him to wait out the four months so he need not have to go through the Gauntlet. So he needn't have to go against Nightwing. And himself.

Batman sighs. He and Nightwing know Tim the longest, and they both know Tim expects nothing less from them. He had tried to reason with the boy. God knows he tried.

 _I need this, Bruce!_ the boy had pleaded, passionately and desperately, grabbing his arm when he tried to turn away. _I need to know. I need to know if I did all I could to protect myself. I need to know if I had everything I could have used. I need to know... I need to know if I still deserve this uniform._

He was reminded of that boy who convinced him, _Batman needs a Robin_. In all the years, with all that training, through all the hardships, pain and sacrifices, Tim was... is still that boy. Bright with optimism. Wise beyond his young years. Drawn to help. Duty-bound.

He wants to spare the boy this pain, both physical and emotional. He wants to avoid this pain of seeing his adoptive son reeling from the violence the Batman will unleash on him if he passes this phase. He wants to lift from his other son the burden of hurting the one for whom he cares so much.

Dick loves Tim. As a brother. As a comrade. As - Bruce surmises - a possible lover. For this reason alone, Dick will do everything he can to put Tim down within the time allotted.

Nightwing steps out into the light, the silver moon looming like a giant lamp behind him. Tim startles. Just a bit. Batman understands. Nightwing's effect on others is different from his but no less overwhelming. _Effusive and full of grace._

"You know how it is, Tim," he hears Nightwing say over the commlink. "We don't pull our punches around here."

"I don't expect you to."

For the first time tonight, Red Robin pulls out his bo. It shows he sees Nightwing as a high-level threat. Tim has no choice but to reveal that particular card. Nightwing _is_ a high-level fighter. On par with his mentor, the Batman.

Tim chooses the long forward stance; a knee bent deeply, a leg stretched behind him, the staff held lightly in his hands waist-level. Nightwing throws him a sharp smirk before, quick as thought, bringing down both escrimas hard on Tim's shoulders. 

Tim manages to block off the blow with his stave and poke his opponent's jaw with it. Nightwing staggers back and rubs his jaw. 

"Heh!" Nightwing spins an escrima in one hand. "You've been practising."

"You bet I have!"

"Won't help you much. Give it up, Tim. You're not ready."

Tim visibly bristles. Nightwing takes that moment of weakness to leap and kick. Tim rolls away but Dick's boot connects to his side. Tim winces. First blood.

Dick does not let up then, raining blows and kicks so fast he's almost a blur. With every punch or hit Tim lands on Nightwing, he gets four in return. There is no banter. Just the sounds of heavy breathing and relentless violence. 

This is no spar.

"Give it up, Tim!" Nightwing hisses as he pins the boy with his weight, knees bearing hard on Tim's thighs, his larger hands almost crushing Tim's wrists against the concrete. "You're not winning this!" 

Batman then sees a calmness come over Red Robin as he stares at his adoptive brother. 

"You know how it is, Dick." Tim's voice is soft, almost teasing. "We don't pull our punches around here."

Tim taps a small tear on his opponent's sleeve and a jolt of electricity runs up Nightwing's arm. Not enough to incapacitate him. Just so he'd back off and Red Robin can release a left hook to his jaw.

_Sneaky kid._

Tim is then able to roll away, grab his staff and keep Nightwing at bay. Just as Dick manages to nab one end of the bo, the timer goes off. There are whoops from the sidelines. Batman indulges himself with a smile. 

But the cheers are short lived.

Nightwing has knelt before a sitting Red Robin, a bare hand on the boy's cheek. Checking for injuries. Touching the new bruises blooming. 

Dick then looks up towards him, effortlessly finding him in the dark. His eyes pleading through the white lenses of his domino mask. Asking for more time for Tim to recover. Entreating for an end on Red Robin's favour. To spare the younger man any more pain.

Batman shakes his head slightly. He loves Tim as his own son long before the boy lost his father. He has to be strong. He has to be ruthless. For Tim.

He strides out of the shadows, his cape billowing behind him in the sudden onrush of cold wind. He sees the dismay on Nightwing's face, feels the resignation in Red Hood's stance, and hears the fear in his biological son's whispered words, _Oh, no... Oh, no..._

As for Tim... Brave, young Tim... There's acceptance. And joy.


	8. The Gauntlet - Facing the Batman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim tries to survive the Gauntlet.

Dick hates himself.

For failing to stop Red Robin.

He crouches beside Red Hood, pulling his hair in despair. Five seconds. Just five seconds more. He believes he would've brought down Tim if he had those five extra seconds. _Damn the timer!_

"You've done all you could have, Goldie," Jason says, as if reading his mind. "Tim's just... on a roll."

"That won't help him against the Batman."

"I know."

Red Robin's favouring the side where Dick's boot had connected. He wonders if he has broken a rib. And there's a slight stiffness on his left shoulder where one of Nightwing's escrimas had grazed over. 

"You really worked him over." Jason spares him a glance. "That's one mean uppercut though."

"I'm fine!" he counters, irritably, as he rubs his jaw. It will swell if he doesn't put some ice on it pronto.

"Drake will lose this," Robin declares, grimly. "He is weary and is injured."

"Should we throw in the towel?"

Nightwing considers the suggestion and deems it unwise. "This is Tim's choice. We can't take that from him."

"Then he is doomed," Damian murmurs. "Father will kill him."

It seems that way from where they are watching the fight unfold. Batman has gone on the offensive trying to break into Tim's defence. It's not an easy task with that _bo._

"You disappoint me, boy!" Batman's voice is dripping with judgment.

Nightwing flinches. So do his two companions. Knowing their mentor is merely trying to psyche out Red Robin does not make it easier for them to hear those words.

"You're the smart one," the Batman continues as he dodges the _bo_. "But this is a stupid choice."

"Is it?" Red Robin releases the catch on his gorget when Batman gets hold of his cape. His cowl stayed on. "Pray tell why."

"This Gauntlet is designed for you to lose."

"But this is not the first time we faced formidable odds, Batman. And you taught me to turn things around to my favour."

"True." There's hint of pride in the Batman's voice. 

Nightwing has to smile. Of course, he'll be proud. Tim may not be the most athletic among them, but his brilliance and tenacity can be breathtaking.

"Yet," the Batman continues. "Even if you win, the injuries you will gain from this might delay your return to duty much further."

"Or it might not," Tim counters, stubbornly. "Regardless, I get what I want."

"To prove yourself worthy?"

 _Oh, God, that's so below the belt, Bruce! So uncool!_ Nightwing shakes his head in disbelief that their mentor stooping this low. To expose Tim's insecurities for all of them to hear.

Tim hesitates and the Batman takes that moment to smash the _bo_ into two. In an instant, Red Robin shifts to using the pieces as escrimas.

"Yes!" Tim's answer comes out strangled. "I don't have Red Hood's strength. I'll never be as good as Nightwing. Hell, Robin's a ninja and he's only twelve! I have to work harder to keep up."

"Then, quit, boy!" Batman roars as he slaps Red Robin's wrists. The _bo_ pieces clatter against the edges of the roof. "I told you - there's no shame in quitting!"

The Dark Knight's fist lands at the side of Tim's head. The cowl takes the brunt of the hit, but it cracks and breaks, leaving half of Red Robin's face exposed.

"I can't."

"I can't hear you, boy!"

Tim spits out blood before pushing himself back to his feet. "I can't quit," he says, quietly. "I don't know how."

"Another lesson you have to learn then, eh, boy?"

The fight escalates to something fast and brutal then. Almost everything in their arsenal is pulled out - batarangs, head-bangers, smoke pellets, stun pellets, bolas.

"What the fuck is _that_?"

Tim ducks a split second before Batman's punch whizzes by. He flicks a tiny globe which bursts when it comes into contact with Batman's hand and the wall behind Red Robin.

"Goo-globule!" Dick grins. He hasn't seen one used for quite some time now.

A gooey gum coats Batman's hand, gluing him onto the wall as it hardens. He merely grunts as he freezes it until the adhesive becomes brittle enough to crush with his other fist. It gives Red Robin breathing room to pull out a long pipe and brandish it as a substitute _bo_. It does not last long. Not with Batman just warming up.

"You have to do better than that, boy!" he chides, striding towards his adoptive son. "Fight me!"

Red Robin throws away the mangled pipe and settles on the orthodox boxing stance, his left foot forward, his fists held up. There is a slight pause before Batman attacks.

It is always awe-inspiring to watch the Batman fight. The fluidity. The economy. The precision. But this time, all Nightwing feels is revulsion. 

"Oh, God, I can't take this!" he hears Red Hood groan beside him.

Even Robin sounds worried. "Father won't kill Drake... will he?"

"I can't look. I can't... I can't..."

"Get a grip, Hood!"

"Shush!" he finally hisses, glaring at them. 

A loud crash draws their eyes back to the fight. Batman has slammed Red Robin onto the brick chimney. The younger man is blocking the blows with his gauntlet and when he rolls away, Batman grabs his tunic and slams him back. The other half of Tim's cowl is long gone.

"Give it up, boy! You are not winning this!"

"Until that timer goes off," the heel of Red Robin's palm connects with Bruce's jaw. "I... have... a... chance..."

"This ends now!"

Tim howls as Batman hits his left shoulder, dislocating it. 

"No, Nightwing!"

Red Hood's grip on his shoulder is strong.

"Let me go, Jay."

"No. Not until it's over. Really over."

Agony is visible on Tim's now unshod face. Batman props him against the wall with one hand, his other pressing on the injured shoulder to increase the pain.

"Say it, son," the older man pleads, voice softer, gentler. "Say it's over. Stand down."

Yet amidst the veil of excruciating pain, Tim smiles back at his father. "No."

Suddenly, the Batman crumples over. Red Robin catches him and gently lays him on his side on the floor. With his right hand, he removes Batman's gauntlet before pulling out a tiny syringe from a pouch in his utility belt. He slips off the cover with his teeth and plunges the needle into exposed flesh. Once the syringe is drained, he pulls it off and sits beside his father to wait.

A few seconds pass before the Batman stirs back into consciousness. The timer goes off. 

"What -"

"Neuromuscular-blocker," Tim offers, suddenly feeling weary. "Slipped it in your drink before we left the cave. Takes half an hour to take effect. Wasn't sure it was going to work. Sorry."

Bruce kneels up and stares at his son, oblivious to his other sons dropping in around them. Tim looks at him, sheepishly.

"You did say I can use whatever means necessary -"

Batman reaches for his son and pulls him to his chest, listening to his pulse, strong and young. Tim hesitates before he finally allows himself to rest in his father's embrace, murmuring, "It had to be the Kryptonite. Right? Only way I could've avoided it. Kryptonite." 

"Batman, would you like me to bring him back to the cave?" Nightwing asks, carefully.

In spite a dislocated shoulder, Tim seems to have fallen asleep.

"Take over my patrol. Red Hood and Robin will handle Tim's."

Their father then wraps their brother in his dark, heavy cape, carefully lifts his son in his broad arms and leaves the rooftop through the fire stairs. Nightwing sighs and searches for Red Robin's cape and broken bo. They can't leave any evidence of the Gauntlet behind.

"He'll be okay, Goldie." Red Hood's hand on his shoulder is an unexpected comfort. "Baby Bird's made of sterner stuff. Easy to forget sometimes."

"Pennyworth will be mightily annoyed though," Robin grumps, picking up the remains of their brother's cowl. "We won't hear the end of it."

Nightwing laughs. _Alfred. How are we going to explain this to Alfred?_

"You okay, N?"

"Man," he chuckles. "I'm almost afraid to face Alfred."

"Well, B's gonna cop a big chunk of it," Jason chuckles back. "You dodged a bullet there."

"Oh, I don't know. Alf's got plenty to share."

"Tt!"

They then fire their grappling guns, minds focused on their patrols.

The Gauntlet is done.

***

Tim's shoulder and chest are covered in bandages and he's holding a cold compress over his left cheek as he discusses a case with Bruce when Nightwing arrives from patrol. 

"Hey," Tim greets him, smiling.

He smiles back. "Hey."

Jason walks in, already in an undershirt and sweats, and flicks a cold compress over to him. Dick catches it, breaks it and places it against his jaw. This is the third compress he had used this night.

"Where's Damian?"

"Alfie's sent him to bed."

As if on cue, the butler arrives with a tray of dishes. He hands each of them a plate of sandwiches before leaving the tray still laden with drinks and napkins on the console near where Tim was sitting.

"Thank you, Alfred."

Alfred seems to be ignoring everyone but Tim. "You're welcome, Master Timothy. Need I remind you to turn in early?"

"In an hour, Alfred. Swear."

The old man's demeanour softens. "No strenuous physical activity in a week, young man."

Tim nods, meekly. "Yes, Alfred."

After the butler has left, they all check their sandwiches. 

"Oh, goody, roast beef on rye!" Jason takes a big bite and chews as he approaches their father. "No fucking way!" he laughs. "You got cucumber sandwiches, Bruce?"

The Dark Knight merely grunts as he chews.

"So do I," Nightwing admits, grimacing at his sandwich. 

"Here."

Tim grabs his plate and switches it with his own. Roast beef on rye.

"Tim -"

"I like these cukewiches. 'Sides you need to stay virile."

"Twerp!"

Tim then settles back to eat the tiny cucumber sandwiches. Dick removes his mask and spends a few moments studying the younger man's face. The strain is gone. There's weariness but overall, Tim looks happy. Happier than he ever was since the attack. He feels the urge to touch that face and brush his gloved thumb over that pout.

Jason mocking eyes burn into him.

"What?"

Jason merely wipes his lips with a napkin and puts down the plate on the tray. He taps Dick's shoulder with a fist before going up the stairs to the Manor.

"You, guys, okay?" Tim asks, sitting up, brow furrowed in concern.

Dick plants a light kiss on Tim's brow. "Never better, Little Brother. Never better."


	9. Warboys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin discovers Tim speaks his language.

A sense of normalcy gradually settles down in the Wayne household. Todd has gone off to one of his jaunts and Grayson has gone back to stay in his warehouse/apartment. Drake has to stay in the Manor until Pennyworth declares him fit enough to be on his own.

Drake hasn't been idle though. He takes over Oracle's role when Barbara Gordon decides to take some time off to organise her upcoming wedding with the lawyer, Sam Young. For two weeks or so, it is Drake's voice they hear on their commlinks, providing valuable intel, directing them to vital hotspots, calling in ambulance or police, and listening to their angst.

When it is time for Red Robin to return to duty, he suggests Robin to accompany him in a few areas under his jurisdiction. Damian can hardly contain his surprise but does not protest. 

They are in the Diamond District, taking a break, when he asks, "Why?"

"Hmm?"

"Why am I here, Drake?"

"Red Robin. We're on duty."

He sighs. _Indeed_. Drake can be an annoyance whenever he wants to. "Red Robin, why am I here?"

"I'm still not at my optimum level. I'd need backup if we get ourselves into some really hairy situations."

"But why me?"

Drake turns to him. "Why not you?"

Damian bites his tongue. Drake is right. Whatever they feel for one another, whatever their history is - these do not have any bearing on their mission. _You pick the tool or the asset appropriate to the task._ It's that simple. He shouldn't even have to ask.

"But if you really need to know," Red Robin continues as he closes the lid of his thermos. "I know I can rely on you to watch my back. Also it's good practice to team up from time to time so we can learn how to work together more efficiently."

"You are training _me_?" he can't help but snipe.

Drake pauses before replying, "I look at it as a learning experience for both of us."

He snorts but does not challenge the words. He watches his adoptive brother adopt the lotus position to meditate.

"Red."

"Hmm?"

"What did you feel when the Kryptonian sexually abused you?"

Heavy silence descends on them, especially when Damian realises he may have been insensitive.

"M-My apologies, Drake, if my inquiry seem callous. It's just been heavy on my thoughts and -"

"Fear."

The word is spoken in a whisper. Red Robin sighs and stares at the blinking lights moving across the New Trigate Bridge. Robin moves closer to be at his brother's side.

"Of course, there was pain," Red Robin adds as an afterthought. "But fear was the overriding emotion."

"It is... understandable."

Drake's eyes sweep over him. They feel sad behind those white lenses.

"Not for myself because Clark was struggling against the toxin. There's only so much he - or anybody else - could do against it. I survived because of his efforts. I'm not saying this to defend him or his actions."

Drake hands him a chocolate bar before standing up to stretch his legs.

"I feared the backlash. The ramifications of that rather unfortunate event. The fallout between Batman and Superman. The Justice League divided over the issue. The possible scenarios..." Red Robin shakes his head, his arms wrapped around himself.

"It was such a burden, Robin. One I wish you would never have to bear. Even as I decided to set aside my rage for the greater good, my memories will forever be scarred by the pain wrought on my person. It wasn't a... pleasant experience."

"It is not too late for retribution, brother."

"That is one option we can never ever choose against one in our community. We are Robins and we fight under the banner of the Dark Knight. We all have taken the oath: _To fight against crime and corruption, and never swerve from the path of justice._ To protect Gotham and the world at large, we must see farther ahead, maintain allies who we may need to reach our goals, and make necessary sacrifices."

He shrugs. "Giving up my claim to requital is merely one sacrifice out of many I have made."

"You speak as a noble," Damian blurts out, instantly regretting the words.

Drake laughs softly. "Of course I do. Alfred calls us the Princes of Gotham. You're one to talk, you know."

"Tt!" Robin scrambles up and stands at the edge beside his comrade. "What now, princeling?"

Red Robin's grinning as he fires his grappler. "Now, we fly!"


	10. Somebody to Love

It's like something out of a postcard - Tim lying on his sheepskin-lined trench coat spread on the grass, reading a book in the park right across the Wayne Tower.

Tim should've been surrounded by paparazzi by now. Even that Tim had ditched the suit and changed into a dark blue sweater over his slacks, it's not difficult to recognise Wayne Enterprises's golden boy.

"I'd like to buy you coffee."

Tim looks up at him, frown morphing quickly into a wide smile. It never fails to take his breath away when it's directed at him. That smile.

"Man, that's some lame-o pick-up line you have there," laughs Tim, putting down his book. 

Dick chuckles, then offers his hand. "Walk with me, Little Brother?"

Tim takes it. "Only if there's coffee at the end of the road."

"Sure."

He slings an arm over Tim's shoulder and draws him close. The younger man is nearly Dick's height but his frame remains deceptively delicate. The reddish-brown, expensive-looking trench coat casually trails over Tim's arm. 

"What's up?" Tim asks.

"Can't I just have some bonding time with my favourite squirt?"

"Damian's your favourite squirt."

"He's no squirt. He's a demon-brat."

Tim chuckles. "Poor kid. He'll never shake that off."

"Hmm..."

They share a quiet moment before Tim speaks again.

"Really, Dick, why are you here?"

Dick squeezes Tim's shoulders before answering, "I'd like to cash in a rain check."

"Is this about the Little Red Lighthouse? Jeffrey's Hook Light?"

"What? Oh! I've nearly forgotten that. Nope. It's a different rain check."

Tim's forehead furrows slightly. Dick pulls him close to drop a kiss on his brow.

"You asked me to be your first. Seeing that everything seems to have settled down, yes, I'd like that to happen."

He feels Tim stiffen before stepping away from him, violet eyes stormy with confusion and incredulity.

"Dick," says Tim, flicking a sweeping glance around. "That's... That's no longer possible. I... I'm not... Clark -"

"What happened between you and Clark was not a first time. It was a sexual assault. Rape."

Tim pales and Dick has to grip his arm to stop him from running away. 

"Little Brother."

"Why are you doing this?" Tim whispers even as they're alone in this woody part of the park.

"Timmy." 

It takes a lot of effort to pull Tim into his arms. 

"Dick -"

"I want you," he finally says and it's like a big load off his chest. "Been wanting you for quite sometime now. The first time thing is... well, just a way for you to show your hand... and mine."

"I don't understand -"

"Jason knows. I honestly don't know how he found out but he did. Maybe noticed I've been staring at you a tad too long. Maybe saw me pining whenever you're in San Fro. I don't know."

"Jason? _Our_ Jason?"

Dick nods, amused at the incredulity in Tim's expression.

"The one and only. At first, I thought he'd hold that secret over my head or blackmail me or something. It finally dawned on me Jason had been playing _bibbidi-bobbidi-boo_ all along."

" _Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo_?"

"Fairy Godmother." Seeing Tim's questioning look, he chuckles, "Sorry. Showing my age there. Hmm... Patti Stanger?"

Tim breaks into an uncontrollable laughter at the mention of the Superhero Millionaire Matchmaker. "Why would he do that?"

"You tell me," he chortles, brushing Tim's bangs with his fingers. "Why does Jason do the things he does?" He waits until Tim has calmed down before explaining some more. "Anyway, that time when Jason broached the subject of your... virginity... Well, in hindsight I reckon he was baiting you. I didn't expect you to bite."

"I didn't," Tim admits, thoughtfully. "It's been on my mind for some time. Get laid so I could get on my life without the teasing and curiosity thrown my way."

"Why didn't you?"

"I was too young. I wasn't ready. Yeah, I was a wuss."

"What changed your mind? Why me?"

Tim's eyes glints in the setting sun. Dick sees the turmoil behind them.

"I trust you. I knew I could trust you. That and I feel safe with you."

"Timmy."

His brother gently pushes away, looking everywhere but at him. He decides a different approach is needed to reel Tim back in.

"You know, although I was hoping to get lucky that night I was supposed to, er, introduce you to the joys of carnality - and I won't lie to you that I got everything we needed -"

Tim blushes.

"I expected the first time might happen at a later date or not at all."

"Now, you've really lost me."

"Tim." He reaches for the younger man's hand and squeezes it. They begin walking back to the path. "I had tickets to the theatre and made dinner reservations."

"That sounds like a date."

"It was supposed to be a date. The first of many I had hoped. Sidelined because of... what happened."

Tim is silent beside him. So he squeezes the hand again.

"So... Would you like to go out with me?" he asks, lightly.

The eyes Tim turns to him are pained even as his tone is calm. "I'm... I'm damaged goods, Dick."

"Don't you say that! Don't you ever -" He takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Tim. I have no right to be angry. But it's not true, you know. What you're feeling. You are not damaged goods."

Tim gives a soft, sad laugh. "I _am_ damaged, Dick. In a certain way. The memory... the shame... Therapy's working but there are still a lot of issues I have to work through."

"Sex being one of them. Yeah?"

Tim hesitates before giving a nod. "A big chunk. Sorry."

"But you'd still go out with me. Right?" Seeing the other's shocked glare, he presses, "Right?"

"Give me one good reason why I should date you."

"I'll give you two: I like you and - I bet my pixie boots on this - you like me." He allows himself to look smug. "In fact, I know you are crushing on me."

"I am not!"

"You are, too," he laughs out, and in a quick second he gets Tim in a headlock. "You like me, I know you do. Else Jason wouldn't go through all this trouble setting us up."

"Dick!"

"Go out with me and I'll let you go with your dignity intact."

"Dick -"

"Are those paparazzi? Woo! That looks like Darryn Lyons!"

"Dick, let go of me -"

"If I kiss you, think it'd make the _Gotham Tattler_?"

"You are not kissing me!"

"Dang! I'll just throw you to the ground and hump you!"

"You're not serious!"

Dick stares at Tim's scandalised face, his smirk sharp. "Go out with me, Tim, or you'll see how serious I can be."

"Dick."

Tim sounds so helpless, so lost, but Dick just tightens the headlock.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

Tim sighs. "I'll go out with you."

"As in a date, yeah?" he asks as he loosens his hold.

"As in a date."

Tim picks up the coat he dropped before straightening up. He then turns to his adoptive brother, blurting, "Ass!"

"At your service - anytime, anywhere!"

He them grabs Tim by the nape, pulls and kisses him hard. 

The _Gotham Tattler_ have their field day!


End file.
